Hate Can Pardon
by Mara Greengrass
Summary: Hate can pardon more than love.  Henry David Thoreau


TITLE: Hate Can Pardon   
SUMMARY: Hate can pardon more than love. -- Henry David Thoreau  
CONTINUITY/SPOILERS: After "Cyberwoman" and spoilery for it.  
NOTES: Thanks to Kayim for answering my linguistic question.

* * *

In earlier times, Jack thought, Ianto would have made an excellent butler.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Thanks to long practice with Ianto's ability to sneak up on him, Jack didn't jump or knock anything off his desk. Taking a moment to cap his pen and place it carefully atop notes about recent Weevil activity, Jack tried to figure out where this was going.

Finally looking up, he said, "Why do you want to know?"

"Why did you kiss me?"

Jack leaned forward and looked Ianto in the eye with his most earnest expression in place. "I thought you were dying or dead." And I couldn't bear for you to die like that, he didn't say.

Ianto's expression didn't change. He stared at Jack, turned, and left the room.

Jack let out a breath, unsure whether or not he'd just received a reprieve. I hate Monday mornings, he thought.

* * *

A week later, Ianto entered Jack's office and stood in front of his desk, face blank and waiting. Looking up at him, Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Jack couldn't help it: He twitched. "I already answered this question."

"Why did you kiss me?"

"Because I thought you were dead." Jack could feel his jaw grinding, but he kept his expression as neutral as Ianto's. Whatever the game was, he'd play along until he figured out what was going on.

Ianto turned and left.

Rubbing his temples, Jack wondered how long this would go on.

* * *

Another Monday morning, Ianto once again standing in front of his desk.

"Why did you kiss me?"

Jack leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, and waited. If Ianto wasn't going to say anything new, he sure as hell didn't plan to.

Ianto stood there a full ten minutes before he turned and left without another word.

* * *

The fourth week, Gwen happened to be at her desk. Jack said, "Because I thought you were dead," Ianto left, and Gwen came in.

"Is something wrong with Ianto?" she asked, perching on the corner of his desk.

"Why do you ask?"

She frowned at him. "He had an odd expression just now when he came out of your office."

"He's fine." Jack turned back to his work, signaling the end of the conversation.

"Sure. Fine. Girlfriend dead at our hands. Never better." Gwen sighed and went back to work.

Jack stared at the report in front of him without seeing it until Tosh hollered something about a sighting near the university, and they were off.

* * *

Weeks five through seven, Jack repeated "Because I thought you were dead." The eighth week, he said nothing.

It reached the point where Sunday nights made Jack twitchy. Each week, he thought about not being at his desk on Monday morning, but he had a suspicion Ianto would track him down anywhere he was and ask the same goddamn question with the same goddamn lack of expression. Who knew Ianto had been trained in torture?

By that point, everyone on the team had realized something was going on, and Monday mornings everyone trickled in, in plenty of time to see Ianto walk into Jack's office and walk out again.

Jack assumed they asked Ianto what was going on, just as they asked him, but Ianto wasn't talking and neither was he.

Weeks nine through twelve, he said, "Because I was sorry." The first time he said it, Ianto blinked, but that was it.

Weeks twelve through sixteen, Jack said, "Tell me what you want to hear." Ianto turned and left the room as soon as he said it.

The rest of the team stopped watching, now seeming embarrassed by the whole thing. They began to avoid the Hub on Monday mornings and avert their eyes if they had to be there. They stopped asking Jack what was going on.

On the seventeenth Monday, Jack lost his mind before Ianto said anything.

* * *

Even pinned against the wall with Jack's arm across his throat, Ianto's expression didn't change.

"What do you want from me?" Jack yelled.

"Why did you kiss me?"

"I don't know!"

"Are you in love with me?"

"No! Yes! What?" Jack stepped back, breath short, full of wasted adrenaline.

Ianto shrugged his suit back into position as if he hadn't just been assaulted by his boss. "That day," he said, and what day he meant was clear, "you never answered my question."

"I...what?" Jack couldn't remember ever being so off-balance.

"I asked if you'd ever loved anyone. You never answered."

Jack closed his eyes, as if that could keep faces from moving through his memory. When he opened them, he automatically checked the Doctor's hand was safe by the entrance. His voice was hoarse. "Yes. I've loved. More than once."

"Did you lose them?"

"Yes."

"Good." Ianto's face was no longer neutral, it was twisted with anger.

Jack tried to catch his breath. "That's what you wanted to know?"

Ianto sagged against the wall, looking defeated. "I wanted to know that you'd suffered like I did. I wanted to know that you have feelings."

Jack shook his head, trying to shake his brains into action. "Why did you ask about the kiss?"

"I wanted to make you mad." Ianto glared at him. "It's the only time you ever say anything revealing."

Jack turned away, leaning on his desk to stay upright. Staring down at the piles of paperwork, he forced out a sentence: "I don't want to lose anyone else. I can't."

"I'm still here."

"I know," Jack said. He could hear tears in Ianto's voice and he wanted to turn around and kiss them away. He wasn't sure if that was adrenaline or love or loneliness, so he stayed where he was, fists clenched on the edge of the desk.

"I hate you."

"I know."

* * *

The next Monday morning, Ianto walked in as usual. Jack's whole body tensed and he waited.

"Tea, sir?"

Jack took his first clear breath in months. "Yeah, that'd be great."

Ianto turned to leave, but paused in the doorway, still facing away. "I don't really hate you," he said.

"I know."

"And you're not a monster."

"Are you sure?"

A pause. "Yes. I'm sure."

With that, Ianto was gone. Leaning back, hands behind his head, Jack considered the radical idea that maybe Monday mornings weren't entirely hopeless.

--end--


End file.
